


Halls of Glass

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker, Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Strap-On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://seeker-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://seeker-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/"><b>seeker_kinkmeme</b></a>, prompt <i>strap-on</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halls of Glass

Her body is gleaming with oil, this champion gladiatrix, her pure white skin shining in warm lamplight as she nears with soft steps and canting hips. Ilithyia lowers the glass of rich wine held between her fingers, drinking in the sight instead. Long, soft hair, so carefully brushed for the occasion, falls in dark waves behind the woman’s shoulders. She doesn’t look at Ilithyia, instead gazing past her, possibly out the window to the night behind her. She’s well-muscled in a feminine way, limbs strong and toned from time spent in the practice yard, freckled from time spent under the harsh Roman sun. The features of her face speak of nobility, of high lineage, and Ilithyia feels nothing short of appreciation for the fact that this Kahlan is instead beneath her, so commanded tonight to please her.

The coarse cloth wrappings around her groin and her breasts are almost offensive, marring the flawless continuity of her body. Flawless, she decides, even with the long scar on her thigh, the fresher wound across her forearm. “Take them off,” Ilithyia says. “Undress yourself, completely.” Her voice doesn’t have near the smoothness she expected, and so she takes a sip of wine, swallows it slowly after rolling it around her tongue. She will not be intimidated by this silent servant.

Kahlan’s arms go behind her back, shoulders bunching as she works to unwrap her chest. The strip of linen falls to her feet, baring generous breasts topped with nipples a lovely shade of pink. The wrapping around her thighs falls quicker. It’s a harness of red leather underneath, and a phallus thick and white that her hand straightens—somehow whiter than the ivory skin around it.

Ilithyia can smell her when she’s in front of her; expensive jasmine and other perfumes surround Kahlan with a heavy, seductive scent. She finds herself urged gently down. Plush cushions support her back, and Kahlan’s lithe and lean body weighs heavy on her own. Ilithyia finally meets Kahlan’s eyes, soft and blue and deep, and her gaze trips down to where Kahlan’s tongue is wetting her lips. She’s nearly forgotten that she’s in charge of this, and hurriedly leans in to kiss Kahlan, slipping a hand into that luxurious hair and pulling her up over her as she relaxes completely.

She wears a tight bodice and thickly layered dress herself, but she feels already bared to this woman, exposed by the way Kahlan’s rough palm smooths along the top of her breast, the curve of her shoulder and neck. As Kahlan undresses her, movements calm and sure and measured, Ilithyia arches her back, her hips, when it’s needed, and she doesn’t realize until it’s done that her body has become well prepared for their coupling.

Kahlan doesn’t know this; she takes two fingers into her mouth, and her throat bobs as she wets them. There’s the smallest smile on her lips when she finds Ilithyia’s sex so very hot between her thighs. “What are you playing at?” Ilithyia demands, and hates that she sounds breathless. She takes the lobe of Kahlan’s ear and squeezes, like she’s a misbehaving child. Kahlan merely lowers her eyes, lowers her mouth to Ilithyia’s neck and lays warm kisses to her throat, a hand cupping her breast. The skin on Ilithyia’s side tingles from it—her hand frees Kahlan’s ear to slip behind her neck, and she forgets Kahlan’s crime in the next beat of her heart.

Poised over her, over the hollow of her hips, Kahlan urges Ilithyia’s thighs to part, and she pushes the phallus inside her with slow, inexorable pressure. Ilithyia bites her lip, frighteningly close to moaning like a common whore. A strangled sigh slips from her throat instead. Warm pleasure floats away the slight pain of intrusion, of stretching around the unforgiving solidity inside her, as Kahlan begins to thrust.

Kahlan is skilled in this; she seems to know what Ilithyia’s body wants more than she herself. And though Ilithyia is versed in pleasure, Kahlan is making her feel new things within a dozen strokes. Quickly giving herself over to this, Ilithyia arches wantonly, lifting up her chest, and Kahlan’s hand passes from her breast around her side to her back, supporting her and pulling her up the rest of the way until they’re pressed together upright, breast to heaving breast, Ilithyia straddling the strong hips of her lover. Kahlan’s hand falls to the curve of her backside, clutching the soft skin there, while the other wraps around her back. Brow furrowed, lips parted, Ilithyia can’t look away from Kahlan’s eyes as they rock against each other, as Ilithyia sinks herself down onto Kahlan’s phallus and Kahlan pushes up just enough.

Then Ilithyia falls back, spreads her legs wide under Kahlan, and Kahlan leans over her, drives her hips with deeper thrusts, her breath hot and strong as her mouth falls to Ilithyia’s ear. Ilithyia can’t help it; she _melts_ beneath her when Kahlan’s rhythm increases, and then she’s rolling them over, sitting on Kahlan’s phallus, taking it in her to the hilt. Kahlan is quite a fetching sight beneath her, dark hair fanned around her face as she helps Ilithyia bounce on her groin with hands on her thighs. The rough sounds of sex fill the room and the smell of it is already thick in the air. Ilithyia lets her body do as is its wont, arching her back, rolling her spine as she grinds against Kahlan’s hips, the slick phallus pulling pleasure from her with every passage.

Kahlan’s hands cup her breasts, kneading, massaging their swollenness, calloused fingers rubbing and rolling the hardened nipples at their peaks. And Ilithyia is that much closer. She slows their movements, dismounts and falls forward onto her hands and knees, head bowed and nearly trembling with anticipation. Kahlan’s on her knees behind her, palm at her backside; she’s lining up, and then she’s thrusting back in. She takes full advantage of the position, taking Ilithyia hard, slamming into her, burying all of the phallus in her with each thrust. Her fingers bite into Ilithyia’s hips, and Ilithyia is reminded of the way Kahlan’s hands grip the dual gladii she wields so expertly. Here, finally, is the tightly controlled violence Kahlan is so very famous for in the arena.

Eyes closed to focus on the way it _feels_ , Ilithyia is rocked forward by the strength of her thrusts, is panting like an animal and doesn’t care; her release is so very close. It’s not until Ilithyia’s backside is red and tender from the rough and repeated smack of Kahlan’s hips that Kahlan pulls out, turns her over and mounts her, planting her hand by Ilithyia’s head and locking her arm as she penetrates her. Her other fingers are rubbing tight, precise circles right where Ilithyia _needs_ her, and her climax takes her, possesses her sudden and strong and Kahlan is relentless, driving into her unceasingly through it all. When the contractions of Ilithyia’s sex finally slow and the bursts of pleasure die down, she’s left a sweaty mess, breathing roughly through gritted teeth as Kahlan slides out of her.

The gladiatrix undoes the buckles of her harness with practiced fingers, looking once again out through the window as she does. The thing leaves deep, red marks on her skin, around her hips and the tight cheeks of her backside. “You think you don’t belong here,” Ilithyia observes, noticing the expression on the woman’s face as she gazes into the night.

“I know I don’t,” Kahlan responds coolly, dragging a cloak around her body and smoothing her hair behind her shoulders. “This life suits me, but I don’t suit it.” Before she makes to leave, she turns piercing, dark blue eyes to Ilithyia. “You, on the other hand, belong exactly where you are.”

Ilithyia looks down at herself, skin slicked and breasts still heaving and hair tangled, inner thighs still wet with her release. She looks around at the lush pillows. Was this servant calling her a whore? A slut? “I could have your Domina whip you to death,” she hisses, and looks up to see the woman has gone. She considers it strongly, but only for a moment. She doesn’t want the woman’s eyes on her like that again.


End file.
